Ain't Nobody's Business if I Do
by JustTheQueenOfEverything
Summary: If I should take a notion, to jump into the ocean, ain't nobody's business if I do.


It was no surprise that she would find him in the choir room, sitting at his bench, grazing his relentless fingers over the keys. It was damn near seven-thirty; glee rehearsal was long over and even Rachel wasn't loitering around anymore. Santana couldn't even remember why she was doing this. The Latina knew she could have been doing something more valuable with her time, like choosing a decent solo for glee or trying to pry Brittany from under Artie's crutches (in this case, wheelchair).

But it was too late to turn back now because he had already caught sight of her. Santana didn't hesitate, sauntering into the now silent room, hand on one hip and bitch face on. Brad wasn't fazed by her stature at all and faced his sheet music with a blank face.

When Santana reached the older man she froze up a little. Brad wasn't like the other useless adults she was used to dealing with. Brad was different. Brad was quiet. Brad _knew _things. But he never let on that he knew a anything. As far as everyone else were concerned, he was just that creepy old piano guy who was always around.

Santana knew better, though. There were times - when someone in glee sparked an argument or some form of distraction - when she would simply observe him at his piano, and little did she know he was doing the same. She was constantly rolling her eyes and he always looked like he wanted to choke someone. If there was any consolation they were _both _annoyed.

The Latina pushed back any former doubt and settled upon sitting beside him on the edge, her ass somewhat hanging off. This is the closest she's ever been to him. Black, she noticed, was a color he wore plenty of. His facial hair was trimmed, but noticeable due to its bleach blonde shade on his light blushed face. Even after a long day of being surrounded by people he probably hated, his hair was still neat and combed, in all its strawberry-blonde glory.

After a while, the awkward silence began to irritate Santana. She remembered what she came here for, "Lets just cut the crap…I happen to know about a certain piano man's birthday. So, forty-six; pretty old for someone who doesn't look a day over forty."

Brad took a look at her but said nothing. The older man was curious on how she found out, but not curious enough to speak on it. If she knew, she knew.

Santana shrugged, never expecting him to talk anyway, "Listen, you don't get the appreciation you deserve in glee. Everyone just expects you to be available and hardly care about your opinion."

Brad raised his eyebrows at her, and pouted his thin lips a little. Santana understood the gesture.

"I know, I know, I called you furniture that one time. It was a term of endearment," she explained with a hint of guilt in her voice. "Furniture is supportive. You backed me up with Songbird and Back to Black. When Harry Potter ended and Mike couldn't get me out of the theater you showed up out of fuckin' nowhere and dragged me out before they called security. When…_she _died you actually came over to my house to check on me. You've been a very good friend to me over the past few months, believe it or not."

"You could have burnt the house down with all those candles you lit."

Santana wasn't even surprised when he finally spoke. Instead, strapped to her face was a broad smile that made her nose rise and dimples show. "I was mourning her loss," the brunette defended. "You know how important she was to me."

He nodded in agreement, "I liked her sound."

Santana stretched her legs and crossed her ankles, feeling very confident with the conversation so far. It isn't easy, getting Brad to open up and the fact that it was her to do it makes her feel like a bad ass motherfucker. "I know you did. Its easy to tell what kind of music you like during performances. When we do pop songs you roll your eyes. When Wheels or Schuester rap you leave the room. When we do rock you roll your eyes and when Berry does Broadway you look at her as if she's the most obnoxious person on the planet…"

Brad grimaced at the thought. The pianist really did despise when the glee clubber did Top 40 tunes that had no meaning whatsoever. That damn 'Love the Way You Lie' number Artie did with Brittany during the beginning of the year almost killed him.

"I've figured out what you like most is classical and jazz," she continued with confidence. "Classical can kiss my ass but I love jazz. When I sing it you light up a little."

"I enjoyed that song you sang to that lip-boy last year."

Santana laughed at the fact that Brad could give a damn about Sam's name. "Look, I want to show you how much I appreciate all the things you do. My cousin Antonio runs a pretty decent jazz club just outside of town. I'm singing there tomorrow night as a favor. I want you to come. Let me sing for you."

Brad contemplated the idea for a moment. Live jazz certainly was an upgrade from listening to the same Frank Sinatra and Nina Simone albums night after night. He was a divorced, routine, forty-six year old man and here was someone he could actually tolerate willing to do something nice for him.

A bitchy, frightened, lonely teenager was willing to do something nice for him when really, she needed someone to do something nice for her.

Who was he to say no?

Santana didn't give him a chance to answer before pulling a piece of paper from her bag and placing beside the sheet music. "There's the address and time I should be singing. It shouldn't be too far. Dress nice."

He stared at the neat cursive handwriting on the torn paper as Santana rose from her seat and lopped her purse around her shoulder.

"I don't have much going for me right now, Brad. Britt is back with Optimus Prime, everyone in glee are always busy, and my parents are always working. I really fuckin' hate being all needy and pathetic and shit, but…" she paused and heaved a sigh, "I'd…really like it, if you came."

And with that, she was gone.

XXXX

The next day in glee was agonizing for Brad. It started with Brittany practically rolling Artie over his foot and then giving him a rough pat on the back as an apology, (anyone who says women are weaker than men is a damn fool). Following that was Rachel's usual rambling, Finn's goofy and hypocritical comments, more favoritism from Mr. Schue, and Quinn whipping around her recently dyed pink hair, making sure every noticed how she's a 'changed woman'.

It truly amazed the pianist how not even three weeks into the new year and they're already working to death on songs for Sectionals. If they were going along with another Rachel/Finn duet like the quarterback was suggestion they could shoot that dream straight to hell. Whatever it was they were doing, Brad honestly wished they would take it more seriously.

While the kids were going through song choices Santana sat back in her chair and filed her nails, pretending to seem uninterested in everything. In reality, she was trying to hold back her snarl aimed towards a certain wheelchair-bound boy, who was laughing and making weird faces with the blonde she was in love with in his lap.

Brad couldn't help but notice how absolutely defeated she looked, too tired to even put up a fight anymore. It was sad to say that her snarl was probably her best and only defense for the time being, but it made sense. What was the point of going through the same pain a second time?

It was easy for Brad to tell that she was simply letting things happen for now.

Without warning, the power couple erupted into an argument and set Santana's mood from spiteful to annoyed. It wasn't even worth the trouble to get involved because everyone knew how fights between Rachel and Finn ended. Brad and Santana caught eye others eye, and rolled them simultaneously.

If tonight couldn't brighten their moods then nothing would.

XXXX

It shouldn't be too far. Ha! Brad was nothing if not lost on the outskirts of town. The directions Santana wrote him were complete crap and he was more than willing to give her a piece of his mind when and if he ever got to his destination.

With a stoke of luck, (and enough right turns to make a man woozy), the pianist finally caught sight of a small building basically in the middle of nowhere. Well, not nowhere exactly. There were plenty of trees and bushes crowding the building and parking lot. Perfect, Brad always did love the feeling of getting mugged under the moonlight.

He figured it must have been the place seeing as though he could here faint music. Pulling into the lot, he parked as closest to a streetlamp as humanly possible and made sure it shined on the hood of his vehicle. Be damned if someone snuck up on him.

Walking up to the building, there was a little sign that read 'Tone' in blue-lit cursive font right above what he believed to be the front door. First impression: the name wasn't very creative. Brad didn't take the time to care like he usually did, he simply pulled back the door handle, then was hit by a gust of upbeat music.

Brad took a step inside, noticing there was a fitting amount of people present, and was instantly approached by a hostess, clad in black slacks and blouse, with a languid smile on her face. "Table for one, sir?"

No fake smiles or time-wasting bullshit small talk, he liked that. The young woman directed him to a table seated for two that faced the stage. Not a second later did a waiter show up and offer him vodka, which he declined. If he was going to enjoy the music and drive home, he couldn't get loose.

Instead, Brad focused on the stage. To his complete and absolute surprise, there was a Steinway ebony piano - parlor grand if he wasn't mistaken - gracing the seemingly polished stage. They were anything but cheap and one would wonder how such a majestic instrument ended up in a joint like this, let alone Lima, Ohio. Besides the piano, there was a drum set, double bass, and a vintage rockability microphone from the fifties or sixties on its stand. He had to admit, he was starting to feel that jazzy tingle.

Surrounding him was light chatter from various couples seated at various tables. The lights were dim and there was a faint hint of smoke from the smokers who where placed in the back. Brad noticed how sharply dressed the people in the small club were. Majority of the men were wearing sportcoats and blazers while the women were all sporting cocktail dresses of various shades. Santana obviously wasn't joking when she told him to dress nice. The older man was actually feeling good about the black tweed two-button sports jacket he decided to wear.

After a couple more minutes of observing the area patiently, a tall Hispanic man who looked to be in his late twenties stepped onstage. Behind him was some man taking a seat on the piano bench and a few other men, carrying trumpets, trombones and saxophones. The man in front of the microphone, who Brad assumed to be Santana's cousin, announced that there was to be a special person performing next. The blonde pianist straightened his posture, knowing the special performer was the girl who invited him.

Once the announcer left the stage, the lights above the audience darkened even more, leaving the stage the brightest area in the entire room. After the band got situated, Santana - wearing a blood red, form fitting spaghetti-strap dress that ended just below the knee and revealed just enough cleavage to make a man forget he had a wife - stepped onto the stage. Her dark hair had been pulled over to one side, showing a part on the her far right, and perfectly curled. Her lips were red and held a confident smirk. She looked different, more mature, unlike herself. But even with the change of look, the HBIC smirk was all Santana.

Following her arrival were cheers and wolf whistles - wolf whistles that Brad shook his head to; the girl wasn't eighteen yet, but with the way she looked he supposed it was hard for some to tell the difference.

The busty Latina was more than confident as she stood in front of her full audience. They were hard to see due to the lighting, making damn near impossible to find the one person she was actually looking for. When she realized she couldn't just stand on stage looking pretty, she grabbed the microphone and allowed her raspy voice to vibrate among the crowd.

"Good evening, everyone. Are you all having a nice time?"

There was a light rumble of cheers.

"Wonderful. My name is Santana, and the next few songs I'm going to sing are for a very special person in the audience. So if you're out there, Brad, this is for you." Santana signaled for the band to start and the wind instruments were the first to jump off, followed by the drums. Her hands overlapped the back of the microphone as she started.

_There ain't nothing I can do,_  
><em>Or nothing I can say,<em>  
><em>That folks don't criticize me,<em>  
><em>But I'm going to do, just as I want to anyway,<em>  
><em>And don't care just what people say.<em>

_If I should take a notion,_  
><em>To jump into the ocean,<em>  
><em>Ain't nobody's business if I do.<em>  
><em>If I go to church on Sunday, then cabaret all day Monday,<em>  
><em>Ain't nobody's business if I do.<em>

_If my man ain't got no money,_  
><em>And I say "take all mine, honey",<em>  
><em>Ain't nobody's business if I do.<em>  
><em>If I give him my last nickel, and it leaves me in a pickle,<em>  
><em>Ain't nobody's business if I do.<em>

_Well I'd rather my man would hit me,_  
><em>Than for him to jump up and quit me,<em>  
><em>Ain't nobody's business if I do.<em>  
><em>I swear I won't call no coppers,<em>  
><em>If I'm beat up by my papa,<em>  
><em>Ain't nobody's business if I do.<em>  
><em>Nobody's business, ain't nobody's business,<em>  
><em>Nobody's business if I do.<em>

A wave of applause thundered throughout the audience before Santana even finished the last note. It was obvious that everyone loved her performance, including Brad. The man had to force himself not to give a standing ovation. There was just something about the girl's voice that soothed him, calmed his nerves. Brad didn't know if it was the raspy tone or simply the fact that it was Santana - someone he didn't hate. Whatever it was, Brad wasn't complaining.

After a few more songs and enough applause to burst an eardrum, Santana finally left the stage, as well did the band. The lights brightened again and everything that was once shadowed came into view. There was chatter, most of it praising the young Latina who graced the stage not moments before.

Brad however didn't think praising her was enough. He thought Santana was absolutely amazing, like she belonged on that stage, and wanted to tell her personally as well as thank her. Clearly that wasn't going to happen that night though, because people were beginning to shuffle out. Men were grabbing their coats while women finished their drinks, smokers put out their cigars and cigarettes.

Brad wanted to stay and find her, he really did, but it was almost midnight. God forbid he stay up any later than necessary and be cranky in the morning and take his wrath out on the glee clubbers, he might just lose his job if that were the case.

He'd just have to find Santana tomorrow.

XXXX

Since Rachel spent majority of her time chasing Finn around, Santana knew she wouldn't find her in the choir room before glee started like normal. The minute she caught sight of him at his piano, Santana walked right up to Brad and sat beside him as if they were the best of friends. "Did you come last night?"

When he nodded, she smiled. Santana hadn't seen him all last night despite her attempts to find him. There was a small, doubtful part in her that thought he actually didn't show. "You were magnificent," he complimented.

Santana flipped her hair, as if she knew this already. "Yeah I know. Antonio gave me, like, five hundred dollars afterward even though it was a favor. He practically begged me to sing again because of all the positive responses or some shit."

Brad wasn't surprised. Rachel Berry isn't the only one who knows how to capture the stage along with her audience.

There was a short pause between the two; Santana picking her nails while Brad fiddled with his sheet music. "I see everything in this room, Santana. I know everything about everyone in this club," Brad announced out of practically nowhere. The Latina straightened up and prepared herself for what was about to leave his mouth. "But even with all of that, there still some things I don't understand."

Santana simply nodded, urging him to continue.

"I don't understand why William allows you kids to call each other awful names and fight and doesn't punish anyone unless you call him out on his shit. I don't understand why Rachel is so quick to forgive Finn and take him back all the time. I definitely don't understand why Mike and the Ex-Warbler always feel the need to dance on top of my piano…" he paused for a second to catch his breath before continuing. "But do you know what vexes me the most?"

Santana shook her head, truly wanting to know.

"The fact that you are letting Artie _win_."

She immediately went into defense-mode. "Excuse me? I'm not letting the cripple win anything." Santana didn't understand why Brad would say something he knew would stir her up, but she wasn't going to just accept it.

But the older man nodded, "Numerous times, you have told Brittany you loved her, and she clearly loves you back. If that's the case, then why aren't the two of you together?"

Santana flung from her seat and began stomping back and forth, "First of all it ain't nobody's business, what goes on between me and Britt. Second, if my parents knew, all hell would break loose."

Brad had always had an idea about Santana's parents. One could tell a lot people through their children. The Lopez people were workaholics, neglectful, leaving their child to do anything and everything to get their attention. The attitude, the sleeping around, the boob job. Unfortunately they were also the traditional type, unbeknownst to them, keeping Santana from being with the person she loves more than anything.

Brad understood Santana's situation just fine, sometimes he felt like the only person who did.

"But aren't the repercussions worth being with her?"

A frantic Santana stopped in her tracks and thought on it for a moment. "I don't know anymore."

"Well it would be wise to figure it out, soon," he stated. "You know as well as I do that Brittany won't wait on you forever, especially with the way you keep letting her down."

What was supposed to be a simple conversation turned into a lecture. The fact that Santana wanted to punch Brad in the jaw didn't make him any less accurate, however. He was right, Brittany wouldn't wait on her forever, neither would she leave Artie for her - the blonde didn't do it the first time and wouldn't consider it a second. "So what the hell do you suppose I do, Brad? Come out to my parents? Push Wheels down a flight of stairs?"

Brad shook his head to her suggestions. "Fight for her. Its that simple."

The cheerio opened her mouth to speak but before any words came out, the bell rang and people started to shuffle in one by one. Brad turned back to his piano, as if they weren't just talking seconds before, and just like that, the conversation was over.

Of course the first few people were the most annoying. Rachel was already being loud while Finn seemed lost and confused as always. Kurt clang to Blaine as if he would float away if let go. Santana rolled her eyes and took a seat in the far back, doing her best to ignore a certain blonde pushing Artie into the room. Brad shot her a quick 'nigga you need to do something' look, and the only thing stopping her from giving him the finger was Mr. Schue entering the room.

Once everyone were in attendance, the Spanish teacher walked over to his whiteboard and scribbled four letters with his black marker and underlined them dramatically.

_Jazz._

"Okay guys, this week's assignment is all about jazz. We're gonna dig deep down into our New Orleans roots and play ragtime until there's no tomorrow."

Seriously? That's how he introduces jazz? Neither Brad nor Santana were impressed with this and were silently doubting his ability to teach a genre as soulful as jazz. They were convinced the vest wearing teacher knew nothing about the versatility of Duke Ellington or the piano genius of Art Tatum. If anything, he probably only knew of Louis Armstrong or Frank Sinatra, main representations. Mr. Schue should stick to the classic rock, a genre he actually knew something about.

To the pair's confusion, the glee clubbers all gave positive responses to the little intro. Mercedes and Artie seemed the most excited, along with Blaine while Kurt raved about outfits. Of course Rachel had to go on and question where the inspiration for jazz came from, to Brads ultimate dismay.

Mr. Schue smiled and answered, "Last night I was listening to some old jazz records and it occurred to me that nobody in here really knows how to sing jazz, so, I decided it be the assignment for the week!"

Before another word could be spoken, a loud, hardy laugh erupted in the small room. To be honest, laugh was more of an understatement. What burst from Brad was a thunderous, hyena-type hoot. His lungs struggled for air as he hollered and actually wiped a tear from his eye. While everyone simply stared at him, shock and confusion on their faces that the normally silent pianist was displaying so much emotion and wasn't a robot, Santana's face cracked into a smile. She knew exactly why brad was laughing and it wasn't long before she began laughing right along with him.

"Why are they laughing?"

"What the hell is so funny?"

"I thought Brad was mute."

Santana's chuckling simmered down as she let go of her ribs. It was so obvious. They were laughing because Mr. Schue was an idiot who didn't know anything about his students. Did he not pay attention to Trouty Mouth last year? That was nothing _but _jazz. Yet here he was, claiming none of them knew anything about it. Sometimes, Santana wished Brad was the one teaching glee club and not the incompet who was William Schuester.

"Hey, Brad?"

The pianist's laughing slowly faded as he looked to the Latina who called his name. He raised his eyebrows, out of breath and not physically able to give a verbal response.

Santana flashed a genuine smile and said, "Happy birthday."

Brad smiled. Santana may be a bitch, but she had her moments. It was through that simple gesture - her showing him kindness in front of her peers when normally she would have just ignored him, ignored everyone - that told him something. Artie may be winning the battle, but there was no way he was going to him the war. Soon, Santana was going to accept herself. Santana was going to come out. Santana was going to fight for the girl she loved most. Santana was going to be alright. Brad could feel it.

What ruined this moment was a very whiny Spanish teacher, upset that the attention had been taken from him. Mr. Schue looked between the Brad and Santana, nosily asking, "What are you two talking about?"

The pair shared a look, neither in the mood for dealing with him. Santana flipped her hair and spoke, "It ain't nobody's business."

* * *

><p>Song used: Billie Holiday - Ain't Nobody's Business if I Do<p>

_**A/N:** Please excuse this crap!fic because I have absolutely no idea where it came from. It just popped into my head a couple days ago and I couldn't stop typing once I started. Eh, its decent I suppose._


End file.
